


Love, Actually.

by ShadyQuiet



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Love Actually (2003), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q Xmas is bound to be unique, Bond as the PM, Bond is in over his head, Christmas, Humor, Love, M/M, Q as his house hold Tea Master, Q is a Holmes, Romance, Some bad language, actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadyQuiet/pseuds/ShadyQuiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very 00Q remix of some of my favourite Love Actually story lines.<br/>Follows the basic plot of the film, but of course with some alterations.</p>
<p>Basically, just a whole lot of Christmassy fun.</p>
<p>First Chapter: The PM and his new Tea-Master;<br/>In which Bond is the new Prime Minister of Britain and he develops an infatuation for his enigmatic tea-server.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Actually.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I watched Love Actually the other day and couldn't fight the desire to make an 00Q version of some of my favourites x3  
> Might be more than one story hopefully, but here's the first anyway.
> 
> (PS if you enjoy and would like to read more let me know which ones! Plus, if anyone out there is able to translate lines of speech into good German and/or French please drop me a line if you fancy helping out :3)

“Welcome, Mr. Bond. Ready to take on the country?” Prime Minister James Bond of England. How on Earth had he come to this? James puffed out a breath and looked around a bit disbelievingly for a moment.

“I’ll have to work on my royal wave.” Eve Moneypenny, his faithful PA, gave her usual half teasing, half flirtatious smile that was only barely bordering on work appropriate.

“That you will, sir. Care to meet your household staff?” Smiling mischievously at his only slightly rueful smirk she gestured him further in No. 10 Downing Street.

“Sure. Anything to avoid running the damn place.”

It was only really half a joke, but made in good humour. He’d developed the habit of talking to himself whilst dictating memos during his campaign. Apparently the trait was here to stay. Not that anyone could complain, politics was mad. James, for one, often found people liked a little mad.

He was introduced to a number of individuals. Tanner; his rather capable seeming chief of staff, Alec; who he already knew as his driver-cum security, and a lady who reminded him a little too forcibly of his predecessor M.

Finally, he was led to a stop in front of a young, really rather gorgeous looking man.

“And this is Q, your tea master, he’s new.” James smiled charmingly and held out a hand.

“Well, it’s certainly good to meet you then.” Q smiled back faintly.

“Thank you sir.” With his hand still wrapped around the youths James teasingly queried.

“How do you feel about coffee?” That smile widened a little, almost a dream-like quality to it.

“Has its unexpected merits, but if it’s with you sir I could be persuaded to accept.” For a moment the taller man let his expression quirk into a bemused half-laugh before Q turned abruptly mortified and blushed rather fetchingly.

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit. Shit, sorry, my apologies, sir,” Q withdrew his hand and flapped them slightly in nervous humiliation as if to dispel the moment. “First day jitters!” He pleaded with an almost-grin of hopeful nerves. Against such an oddly endearing display of honesty it was all James could do to grin and half chuckle under his breath at this new creature.

“Understandable, if unexpected. Nothing wrong with a bit of nerves.”

“Providing no performance issues occur, which I shall endeavour to prevent from here on… oh bollocks.” James could only grin again, utterly amused, as Q realised his second impromptu almost-flirtation, turned crimson and covered his mouth in mortification.

Bond was chivvied on by a slightly exasperated Eve, but couldn’t help looking back. He rather thought he was going to like it here after all…

Which was damn inconvenient really, with a whole country to run.

“Bloody hell.” He agonised, finally alone in his office and nothing but the memory of dark hair and red lips on his mind, rather than the stack of pressing tax reports.

 

<3<3<3

 

James saw Q everyday, around the same two or three times. It made it appallingly easy to anticipate him, look forward to him.

“I was rather hoping you’d win. Nice to have a chance to crack out some of my more interesting biscuit inventions.”

“I’m nothing but a test subject then?” A soft, half-charmed smile, half amused.

“No, you’re anything but.” The smile remained on his face for the rest of the day, despite the allegations the press were throwing at his car expenditure.

 

<3<3<3

 

Right at nine, punctual to a fault and with a steaming mug of mysteriously perfected coffee. It would be tea at lunchtime and a possibility of either at three that somehow managed to be just what he was craving.

“Here you are, sir.” Q turned to leave, and James enjoyed the view for a moment, that svelte form in a fitted waistcoat was nearly criminal. A moment later to hesitate, agonise…

“Q,” the man turned back, eyebrows raised, surprised but not shocked, curious, attentive.

“Sir?” Dear lord those lips mouthing that word would be the death of him. So would his infatuation if he didn’t send the tea master on his way.

“I feel like I hardly know you, save your talent for biscuits and uncanny ability to brew drinks, hardly anything concrete.” Apparently his mouth hadn’t received the memo to keep tongue… but then, when had he ever around an attractive individual?

Q paused for a moment, expression turning considerate and contemplative before settling on calm and open.

“Well, certainly not a life story, but probably explanatory enough. I’m hardly that interesting.” James could have frowned at the easy brush off, but instead found a fond smile lifting his lips a he gestured the man back into the room.

“I beg to differ, please.” Q shuffled back, looking a bit shy and a little more nervously-amusedly surprised. “For instance, where do you live?” Q raised an eyebrow as if to question his concept of ‘interesting’, but held his tongue from it with a witty smile, answering instead.

“Baker Street, sir. The dodgy end.” Amused he frowned.

“There’s a not-dodgy end?” It earned him a half breathed out laugh and a relaxation of stiff posture, a wider grin. It felt like winning the lottery and James grinned back apiece.

“Touché.” Pleased at the rapport, he continued.

“And there you live with a girlfriend? Partner? Twelve charming but grossly overfed cats?” Another small laugh, and then Q sobered.

“No… I broke up with my partner recently, so I’m back to living with my brother for now…” James did frown this time.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sorry in the slightest, which Q’s hand brushing aside careless fringe kept him from seeing momentarily.

“I’m not. The bas-well, he started hacking into my e-mail accounts, got rather petulant and jealous. Nasty piece of work, really, in the end.”

There wasn’t really a good response to that, not when James could read the bitter emotions and residual pain lacing those expressive green eyes. After a semi-awkward moment of dual silence, Q shifted and turned a little.

“Well, thank you, sir, enjoy your coffee. Good morning.”

“Wait,” The man turned back, a bit embarrassed and surprised. James watched him carefully a moment, eyes deadly serious. “You know, I could just have him killed for you.” For a moment Q stepped back, shocked, before he read the slow smirk on his PM’s face and mirrored it a little sheepishly.

“Thank you, sir. But I hope that won’t be necessary.”

“James, please.” Q dithered a moment, a gentle flush colouring his cheekbones, a smile being bit back a little.

“James,” The man conceded. The name rolled off his tongue deliciously. Bond sat back, pleased.

“And do think about it, I hear the SAS are charming. MI6 too for that matter.” Q grinned full out, tension gone but an endearing sort of pleased and shy nerves replacing it.

“Thank you, I will, James.” With that he was nodding and gone, both men etched with smiles until James turned to the ever-disapproving oil painting of PM M on the wall.

He was in trouble.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t have these problems. Silver minx.” He muttered to her disdain petulantly.

 

<3<3<3

 

American visits were never terribly welcome, in James’ opinion, and he hadn’t much been looking forwards to it. The whole idea of the meet and greet set his teeth on edge.

His party was adamant to take a stand against some of their more volatile policies. Even Alec, usually so faithfully companiable, was uttering words that hinted on prodding him against the Americans.

James preferred to enter without the influence of others, at least until he had the facts. Why they couldn’t trust him to protect his country he didn’t know. But of course, there was a lot at stake.

The last American politician he had met however had been charming. Felix Leiter had been a good chap to work with.

The President, as it transpired, was not a woman of Felix’s make. She was manipulative, cunning, secure in her nation’s power and, above all, a lecherous bitch.

To catch her compromising Q in a position only too domineering to be anything other than sexual, the poor man in his waistcoat nearly pressed over a table by her talloned hand on his nervously stuttering chest was a sight likely to be etched into his retinas forever.

Q beat a hasty retreat at the distraction James caused, looking half stunned and half shocked out of his wits. Mrs President, the adulterous whore, smirked after him with a sickening comment about two countries merging and James saw the red descend over his eyes.

That night was a mess. He could neither forget the woman pinning Q nor the blatant effect her hand on the young man had on his own emotions.

The morning was marred yet further by her sickeningly smug expression at the press conference.

“Oh yes, our visit was very satisfactory, England has always been most generous in our special relationship.”

“And you, Prime Minister, how did you find the visit.” The president didn’t even have the decency or care to watch him reply. But Bond’s eyes sought Q’s nervous and agonised greens in the crowd, standing out on his otherwise steady façade, and a sense of content determination stole across him.

“I would have to disagree with the President on all accounts.” A moment of silence and shock to building cacophony before James continued with a silver smirk, devouring the fury and shock in his fellow politician’s eyes.

“A relationship between two countries, any two countries, requires equality, respect. For this last meeting I have been hard pressed to see the President’s values of equality for our two nations. We may be small, but we are also great. We have Shakespeare, Monty Python, the courage to force ourselves into frigid bodies of water come summer, fish and chips, allotments… weather to be proud of,” a round of building laughter around the building gave him pause. “A dry sense of humour to help with the rising damp.” Another, louder laugh buoyed him into a wider grin. “Afternoon tea to help us keep up with that-“ A look into Q’s slightly stunned and amazed eyes drowned out nearly all the laughter without taking away his elation. “Without acknowledgement and equality from those who are meant to be our allies, one tends to loose a certain sense of respect for them.” James turned to the nearly spitting President. “And Mrs President should understand that it is her long overdue duty to regain that respect, and consider that I am prepared to stand for the equality of my country.”

Cameras flashed, questions assaulted the air, and James turned from his glowering fellow to the crowd with an easy, proud smirk. He had her beat, and better, he had her beat soundly, publically, and politically.

His eyes found Q’s through the crowd, and under the satisfied elation and power that came from teaching the American to not touch what isn’t hers, there was a quieter, more devastating thought…

His infatuation with Q had become overbearing and endangering. A beautiful distraction, and one he couldn’t have at that.

It was time to say goodbye.

 

<3<3<3

 

In the end, he couldn’t bear to do it in person.

 

<3<3<3

 

December passed with a sense of victory felt by possibly all except James. He had developed a certain feeling of loss, tedium, fatigue. One that was only heightened whenever his new and rather uninspiring tea lady came in… And it was only when she introduced herself that Bond fondly, and then painfully, remembered how Q had been no mere ‘tea man’ or ‘boy’, but a ‘tea master’.

Some antiquated rock star showing off on the TV pulled him from the usual heap of files and into amusement. Enough that he pushed aside the dire heaping of work and instead turned his flitting attention to the assortment of Christmas mail Eve had ‘randomly’ selected for him.

Sometimes he wondered what on earth she did with the rest, set it alight? He had half the mind to do the same until he flipped open a rather peculiar card featuring a grumpy cat in a hat with a mug in front of it that proclaimed ‘Keep Calm and Lace the Tea with Whiskey’.

Half amused and half questioning his country’s sanity, James flipped it open and was met by a neat, tightly written script.

Dear Sir. James.

Merry Christmas, I am wishing you all the best.  
I can’t say sorry enough for that event, wish I’d stayed behind to explain, but I was entirely too relieved that you happened along to save me. Women have never been my particular forte I’m afraid. And I regret that it happened. Largely because, for the longest time and continuously (not a little for honesty and lot for nothing to lose, and at this time of year in particular)  
I find that I’m yours, constantly.  
So Merry Christmas, with love.  
Your Q.  
Sincerely.

P.S. Apologies for the card, I had little to go on that was concrete, but hope you find it amusing nonetheless.

James ready through twice, and then just the last two lines before the postscript repeatedly, eyes pausing on the words ‘Your Q’ whilst his chest did something funny. Not breaths later the phone was in his hand.

“Alec? Fire up the Aston. We’re going to Baker Street, the dodgy end.”

 

<3<3<3

 

Damn it all but he had no idea where to start. He ran an entire bloody country but could he find the house of one man, and possibly the love of his life? No, of course not. Sod’s bloody law.

Left with no other device, and Alec watching him with a mix of amusement and wary concern, James Bond, Prime Minister of England, took to knocking on doors.

After a good near half hour fiasco of old ladies cooing and grumpy sods heckling, kids screaming and drunk people hooting, James finally banged on the door of no. 221. Praying for even a shred of a clue.

The door was snapped open by an imperious looking man with an expensive suit, an umbrella and a raised eyebrow standing afore a motley looking crowd.

“Mycroft Holmes?” Of all the men to be living down here-

“Sherlock where the bloody hell have you- oh, James.” Like an impossible mirage Q was standing on the stairs, stunned, behind the man with more fingers in world politics than a child in the cookie pot, a man he knew to be the head of Scotland Yard, an elderly lady, a supposedly dead consulting detective from the papers, a surprised looking shorter man, a flustered and over (or under) dressed young lady, and for some inexplicable and possibly criminal reason- a cadaver he was holding the head and shoulders of.

“Evening, Q.” Mycroft Holmes stepped forwards with an unreadable expression.

“Prime Minister, to what do we owe the pleasure?” With the man’s unaffected tone, and the large gathering, the wind seemed to somewhat leave the suavity of James’ sails.

“I…was just hoping to speak to Q, really.” His tea master’s green eyes widened, and the assembled crowd shifted curiously.

“Oh, of course, you can-“ Q’s still stunned-soft gesture upstairs was interrupted by a certain acerbic –and definitely not deceased seeming- detective.

“We’re due for an experiment on the effects of sulphur on the body. It can’t possibly wait.”

“Damn it, be quiet Sherlock!” Q hissed before flashing a nervous smile.

“Oh but that poor widowed man waiting all this time, and we really can’t leave the body here Sherlock, I wont have him in the house, god rest his soul-“

“You can carry on fine without me Mrs. Hudson!”

“Impossible, you’re the only one who can delicately brew the correct consistency-“

“Shut up Sherlock!”

“…Why don’t we talk on the way? I’ll lend the cars, especially since I’m sure this isn’t even remotely legal.” The detective’s eyes shone with glee at the prospect of speed.

“Excellent!” The detective lurched forwards with the lower half of the corpse and nearly upended Q before the younger man passed the burden off onto the shorter blonde man.

The grim and unnaturally buoyant party clambered into cars and faffed and fought and somehow Q and James ended up awkwardly angled away from the freshly-deceased body strapped in between them. At the same time James thanked his military experience he wondered, yet again, how on earth his life had come to this.

To be fair, Q seemed to be suffering much the same. Indeed, he looked about as mortified as at their first meeting. James glanced over sideways and caught the corner of Q’s returned gaze.

“Well, fuck.”

Without more than a shared glance the two burst out laughing. And after that, it was rather hard to stop, even as they apologised through tears of laughter.

“Noo no! I’m _sorry_ I didn’t stay-“

“I’m more sorry I sent you away, if it meant you end up in a car with corpses-“ Q interrupted him with a violent burst of laughter, bent double, that was ridiculously infectious.

After they’d calmed slightly, breathed, Bond caught his senses.

“The card, thank you for the card.” Q looked over, sobering slightly, hopeful.

“You liked it then?”

“Very much.” James admitted; eyes focused on Q’s blinking ones.

“I meant it. Every word.” If the cadaver hadn’t been in the way, and taken that moment to topple into him as the car stopped, James would have kissed Q then and there.

As it was, James had to wait until Q had sneaked him into Scotland Yard, brewed a cocktail for a corpse, and then led him to the break room.

‘All I want for Christmas’ was playing on the radio, and Q was handing him a cup of machine coffee with an apologetic expression laced with amusement, and before James could quite believe it was happening he had put the drink aside and was kissing Q whilst holding his face.

There were eloquent hands on his arms and back, eager lips, warmth and sensual ecstasy because finally! Finally after what seemed a rollercoaster he was finally kissing this man… until wolf whistles and clapping broke them apart.

It seemed that nearly the entirety of Scotland Yard’s night shift shared a break at this exact time, along with Q’s evidently unimpressed older brothers.

“Well, shit… any ideas?” Q asked in a quiet, shocked and amused and elated murmur to James as their hands remained entwined. James plastered on his calmest, most charming and suave smile, raising a hand.

“Just smile,” Q did bashfully, “wave, take a bow, and get us the hell out of this break room before I have to call the SAS.” Q’s tumbling and barely smile-smothered laughter led the way as he turned and nearly dragged James out of another door at the back of the room. For the first time in weeks, James found his heart high and a smile etched on his face again.

This had to be the best present of any Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments, kudos and critique appreciated ;D


End file.
